


Good Game, The Return of BoogerBoss

by SamanthaAuburn



Category: Good Game (TV 2017)
Genre: Adding to the TV show lol, But I'm also adding to it?, Gen, Good Game Adaptation, Literally I'm writing out the story from Good Game, No shipping, Only kinda., TV Show Adaptation, Though kind of in the Switched Au, YouTube Adaptation, YouTube Novelization, because why not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-07-17 12:26:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16095653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamanthaAuburn/pseuds/SamanthaAuburn
Summary: Alex Taylor and Ryland Tate have been roommates for more years than Ryland wants to count. Alex isn’t the best roommate, but at least he gives Ryland some kind of purpose… As long as Ryland keeps him at arm’s length. But now Alex has come to him about starting an esports team for the up and coming game Killcore, dragging the worst demons from Ryland’s past to the surface, unbeknownst to Alex. Ryland isn’t sure why, but he decides to go along with it. Hopefully this wouldn’t become something he’d regret.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, and welcome to this weird thing. I'm literally adapting the whole of Good Game to a novel! While it's not technically in the Switched AU, I am making references to it. As it stands, I'm going to do the first episode (in multiple chapters) and decide from there if I can do the other eps. . . Technically they're still behind a paywall, so I don't know if I'm legally allowed to do that or not. Maybe I can get in touch with the Grumps, Jesse, or Michele and see what they think. 
> 
> Regardless, enjoy this crazy thing!

“That was the latest trailer for Killcore, introducing League Play, all in prep for the Blood Match,” the announcer said after the trailer ended. She grinned, her purple hair swaying as she faced the camera. “One team is gonna take home one million dollars, so you better believe that every Esports team out there is gunning for Killcore players, including the legendary Lucid Nightmare.” She turned to the man next to her. “And I’m here today with their coach, Steamin’ Semen.”

Steamin’ shot her a glare. “I actually prefer _Steamin’,”_ he said. “I came up with that name was I was fifteen years old, so…”

The hostess frowned a moment, then quickly put up a sheepish smile. “Oh, um, I’m sorry, man–”

“But I need to correct you on something,” Steamin’ said, cutting her off. “Lucid Nightmare isn’t looking for players… we’re looking for _gamers.”_ He pointed a finger gun at the camera. “Players play. Gamers game. Gaming is work. Work isn’t fun.”

The hostess frowned at him. She gave him a slow nod.

“Games are fun,” Steamin’ said.

“Right…” the hostess said.

“When you _play_ them,” Steamin’ continued. “Because when they stop being fun, you can quit. You can’t quit gaming.”

“Right. Sure.”

“But we can fire you,” he said. “If we catch you playing.” He smirked. “Listen, tomorrow’s pro gamer champion isn’t sitting on a sofa right now with his junk in one hand and his controller in the other.” He pointed at the camera. “If that stereotype still exists… I don’t know what he hopes to achieve.”

Ryland Tate snapped off the TV and ran a hand down his face, taking a moment to scratch his beard. Ugh. Like he needed more shots of Steamin’s ugly mug. He had just been trying to learn a little about this new MOBA.

Then _he_ shows up. God. He shook his head, then readjusted his blonde streaked, brown hair in its short ponytail.

He stared at the dead TV.

He should just… stay away from MOBAs. He didn’t need to go down that path again. Even with the million-dollar prize.

Better not to reopen that wound.

He started up his gaming console instead, and dropped Moon Canyon into the disk drive. Some good ol’ fashioned non-linear medieval RPG fun would be more interesting anyway.

He still needed that stupid upskirt achievement.

Four hours later, the game had dissolved into mindless button presses as he set up each new upskirt. Frankly, he had had enough of digital panties.

The door jingled as someone inserted a key into the deadbolt.

Ryland’s eyes widened and he glanced down. Shit, he was still in boxers. He threw himself off the couch and dashed for his room. He managed to get a pair of shorts on and sit himself back on the couch just as his best friend and roommate Alex Taylor shut the door and hung up his keys. He heard him grab a beer from the fridge before turning to the living room.

In all honesty, the mad dash for shorts was totally unnecessary, considering their No Pants Wednesdays policy. But he wanted to give some semblance he was actually doing something with his life.

Though why he felt the need to put up this façade wasn’t clear. It’s not like Alex cared.

“Hey,” Alex said, his voice cheery like usual. Ryland heard him twist the cap off his beer.

“Hey,” Ryland said, trying to sound perky.

Alex entered the living room. Ryland caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of his eye. Red shirt, slightly lighter red overshirt and those ridiculous orange/peach pants that were far too short for his lanky legs. His crazy yellow and black oversized shoes looked extra weird considering Alex’s oversized feet, and he wore huge black socks that didn’t quite cover the skin poking out from the pants. Like usual, his wild curly brown hair was everywhere. At least he had managed to shave today.

“What’d you do all day?” he asked with a grin.

Ryland frowned. He would ask that. “Uh, different stuff. Errands.”

Alex furrowed his brow. “Errands?”

“Yeah.”

Alex sat down on the opposite couch, shoving aside a laundry basket of questionably clean clothes. “What kind of errands?”

Oh my god, why was he so damn persistent? “Post office.”

Alex eyed him. “Post office?”

“Yeah.”

“You… went to the post office?”

What else do you do with the post office? “Yeah.”

“…For mail?”

Ryland rolled his eyes. “No, for _ice. Yes,_ for mail.”

“I normally just use the mailbox–”

“Are you writing a book about my day?” Ryland asked, glaring.

“Did you spend it playing video games?”

_“Yes!”_

“Good!” Alex said, leaping off the couch, and pointing enthusiastically at Ryland, a massive grin on his face. “Don’t be ashamed. Because I saw something that’s gonna take your balls, blow them out of your ass, and into a box of more balls.”

…The imagery this man came up with.

Alex dropped himself next to Ryland and threw an arm around his shoulders, grinning. Ryland tried and failed to shrink away from the touch. And of course he caught him with rare short sleeves… he made sure to turn his wrists inward out of view.

Alex took a swig. “What do you think of when I say the word ‘essports’?”

Ryland froze. No. Ohhh no, not this. Alex did not just bring up esports.

Wait. Did he just say essports. . .?

“I think the TV was in a bar, the volume was muted and you’re trying to say ‘esports’,” Ryland said, pulling Alex’s arm off him, trying to figure out how he was going to dissuade Alex from this path.

Alex didn’t seem to notice Ryland’s discomfort. “Yeah, I am. There’s this game… uh, Kill-something. Something-Core.”

Oh, great. “Killcore?”

Alex grinned. “You know it!”

“…I pieced it together.”

“Dude, Ryland, they have tournaments, man, like, you could win a million dollars,” Alex said. “They made a job out of what not having a job used to look like!”

Ryland wasn’t getting out of this. “It’s probably a MOBA.” That’d confuse him.

“That goes without fucking saying, man,” Alex said, sipping his beer. He turned to Ryland. “…What’s a MOBA?”

Ryland sighed. “It’s five guys pressing four keys in a pattern against another five guys pressing the same four keys in another pattern.”

Alex blinked at him.

Ryland stared at the TV. “This is something different. This is one guy…”

He picked up a watermelon in-game.

And everything about MOBAs hit him at once. The playing, the challenge, the glory, the joy of it all.

Then the bullying, the hate, the frustration, the enemies popping out of nowhere.

Enemies like Steamin’.

Then the breakdowns… the depression… the bad coping methods… All leading to him living in this dumpy little apartment with a roommate who couldn’t pay for his own beer, let alone rent… and who was somehow the only reason Ryland kept going.

The watermelon turned in a slow circle on screen, waiting for Ryland to press okay.

He took a deep breath and finished his sentence. “…Slowly dying inside.”

Somehow Alex didn’t pick up on Ryland’s tone. “Dude, you really know your shit.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I’m gonna Google this. But I’m gonna need 110% from you.”

Ryland eyed him. “Of what?”

“That’s what I’m Googling!” Alex said. “You in are you out, Ryland?”

Ryland stared at his roommate. Alex was somehow already waist-deep in this esports thing, despite having very little knowledge about it. And he wasn’t going to change his mind.

Hell, getting Alex to change his mind on anything was a massive challenge. Once he got something in his head, that was it.

He had no idea what he was getting into. And as much as Ryland hated the idea of getting back in the game, Alex needed someone at his side. At least someone who knew what to protect against.

Alex would get bored in a few weeks anyway, like he did with all his money-making schemes. He should at least have someone at his side while he fucked around.

Might as well be Ryland.

“Oh, I’m in buddy.”

“I’m doin’ this,” Alex reiterated.

“I support you,” Ryland said. _For the week and a half that this’ll keep your attention._

Alex took another swig of beer. “Not joking.”

“I believe you.”

 _After all,_ Ryland thought. _It might be a nice little distraction for a while._

—–

“Hey Ry, get in the car,” Alex said, poking his head into Ryland’s bedroom.

Ryland looked up from the book he was reading. “Don’t tell me you convinced Randy to jumpstart that nasty old thing for you again.”

“Yup,” Alex said. “And he only charged me fifty bucks this time.”

“Could’ve used that for rent this month.”

“As if fifty bucks will put a dent in the rent you owe.”

 _“We_ owe,” Ryland said. “Where are we going anyway?”

“Rosevale neighborhood,” Alex said. “It’s not far.”

“It’s over 30 miles away,” Ryland said. “I wouldn’t trust that thing to go 30 feet.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Just get in the car.”

Against his better judgement, Ryland followed Alex’s directions. “Why are we going to Rosevale?”

“Just trust me.” Alex drove off.

—–

“So I’ve been looking more into this Killcore thing,” Alex said.

Ryland frowned. It had been nearly two weeks since Alex had initially brought that up. “You’re still on about that?”

“I said I wasn’t joking,” Alex said. “It’s a quick, easy way to make some money.”

Ryland rolled his eyes. “It’s not quick or easy, Alex.”

“And how would you know?” Alex eyed him, almost eagerly.

Ryland leaned back. “It just. . . it doesn’t look easy.” He stared out the window. “And when is that Blood Match thing anyway? Like, nine months away? Not quick either.”

“How do you know about Blood Match?” Alex asked, his voice suspicious.

Ryland frowned. “I just… I saw a commercial about it on ESPN,” he said.

“Why were you watching ESPN?”

Ryland looked off. “Football.”

“You hate football.”

“Fine,” Ryland said. “Tennis.”

“You hate tennis too.”

“I was just flipping channels, Alex, geez,” Ryland said. “Let it go.”

Alex smirked. “Sure.”

They eventually pulled into a neighborhood and stopped in front of a rather dilapidated looking house. The peeling paint, damaged picket fence, and dying grass looked out of place among the well-kept houses surrounding it.

Ryland wasn’t sure what to think of this place.

Alex grinned and passed a piece of paper to Ryland. “Here’s my first draft pick. Check out his ganks.”

“Check out his ganks?” Ryland glanced over the paper. The player in question was a trap warrior player, specializing in the character Sweet Nuts. He had to admit, he had an impressive record.

But the name… HotDiarrhea. Good god.

Though… perhaps “BoogerBoss” wasn’t the best name either. “We’re checking ganks now?”

 _“Yeah,_ Ryland,” Alex said, as if it was the most obvious thing. “We’re recruiting gamers. That’s what we do. We check ganks.”

This constant “we” thing was starting to annoy him. Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten involved after all.

“How did you even find this person?”

“I gave his IP address to a friend of mine at the cable company,” Alex said.

Ryland eyed him. He honestly didn’t realize Alex even had other friends… he had never seen any in all the years they had lived together. Something wasn’t right here.

“You stalked a man.”

 _“No,”_ Alex said. “A _boy._ He’s a young boy. And _we_ stalked him, as partners.”

Partners. God, that word was weighted when it came to their relationship. “Platonic life partners.” A label Alex had dropped on their friendship just a few months after he had moved in with Ryland.

Right after Ryland had met Alex’s pig of a father at a restaurant. God, that was an odd experience. Not one he wanted to relive any time soon.

Somehow though, that experience seemed to solidify the fact that Alex was stuck in his life for the long haul.

Partners. More than just friends. More than just roommates. Something… special.

If there was anything special about Ryland’s life.

Alex gripped his shoulder. “Come on, man, let’s get started with this. On to a glorious one million!” He exited the car.

Ryland followed, shaking his head. What were they getting into?

Alex sauntered up to the door and pressed the doorbell. “Time for some old-fashioned Alex Taylor charm!”

Ryland rolled his eyes. Alex Taylor, the ultimate expression of overconfidence and incompetence. It was definitely not any kind of “charm” that conned his way into Ryland’s life.

A woman who was unmistakably this player’s mom answered the door. Alex grinned.

“Hi!” he said. “You must be Kamal’s sister…?” He winked. “Because don’t tell me–”

The woman let out a long-suffering sigh. “Okay, look. Kamal is grounded from his computer. He’s not allowed on a computer, I’ve dismantled his computer until 2020 AD, okay?”

Whelp, time to get out of this mess! “Okay, bye!” Ryland turned to leave.

Alex grabbed his shoulder, then turned to Kamal’s mom. “Wait! Ma’am, I appreciate that, but have you ever considered the fact that Kamal is no ordinary child.”

The woman turned vicious. “You think it’s my fault how he is?” she snarled through clenched teeth.

Alex’s face fell.

“You think Jeffery Dahmer’s mother said, ‘Jeffery, why don’t you stop eating that cookie and eat a person’?”

Ryland blinked. What the hell-ass kid did Alex find?

“You get who you get,” the woman finished. She looked them both over. “Are you guys with the small penis people?”

Alex hesitated a moment then gave a small nod.

Ryland stared at him. “What?”

“The micropenis support group!” the woman said. “I told your guy, what do you call it, the um… moderator, Kamal is sorry for hacking you. It won’t happen again, because he has no computer! Good enough, okay?”

Definitely go time. “Good enough. Okay!” He tried to leave again.

Alex stopped him once more, then turned a more serious look at the woman. “Ma’am, no one with a micropenis wants to see this go to court.”

The woman’s eyes widened and she started mumbling in Hindi.

“Please, if we could just talk to Kamal,” Alex continued.

“I mean… I have to,” the woman said. “But you?”

Alex shook his head. “I wish it was up to me, but this came, from the top. The micropenis president.”

The woman stared a moment, then reluctantly invited them in.

Alex Taylor charm indeed.

She escorted them upstairs and knocked on the door of what Ryland assumed was Kamal’s bedroom. She shouted his name, followed by a long string of Hindi, then forced her way into his room.

The boy couldn’t have been older than sixteen. He lay on the bed, heavy expensive headphones on, wearing shorts, a striped shirt, and a jacket. The room was full of what any typical teenage boy would have… lots of pinups, various video game paraphernalia, and of course, Killcore posters.

He stared at his mom while she spoke, took a deep sigh, than turned to Alex and Ryland. “I’m sorry you have tiny penises.”

Good god, could he put any more contempt into that voice? “Good enough for me.” Ryland tried once more to leave.

Alex grabbed him again. “Not me. If I wanted to hear an apology for my penis, I’d listen to myself, in my group… a group which you violated.” He fell into a coughing fit and turned to Kamal’s mother. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Pasala. I’m suffering from what’s known as penis shame throat…?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll get you some water.” She left the room.

It took all Ryland’s will power not to strangle Alex right then and there.

Alex whipped around to Kamal. “Kid, we lied to your mom. We have average sized penises and we’re starting a Killcore team. You down?”

Kamal tapped his fingers together, thinking. “I want a computer with a GTX-1080, and five hundo a week.”

Ryland laughed darkly. “Yeah, right.”

But Alex stared at the ceiling thoughtfully. “Four hundo. And you have to say the whole word, hundred.”

Ryland frowned. “Um… yeah right?”

Kamal glared. “450. And I talk how I wanna talk, bitch!”

“Four-hundo-fifty and I co-opt the word ‘hundo’ sapping it of any appeal.”

Ryland started to panic now. “Who’s money are we paying him?” He had never known Alex to keep down a job. The whole point of this was to make money, not lose it.

Kamal sneered at him. “Yours, dick.”

“We’ll get sponsors,” Alex promised him.

Ryland had enough. He turned to Kamal. “You’re a dick.”

Kamal smirked. “Good one.”

“You’re a good one!”

“That’s what your mom said!”

“Well, you’re stupid for believing her, my mom overpraises, her compliments mean nothing!” Ryland snarled. He paused. Holy hell, did he just have an internet argument with a 16-year-old?

Alex gave him a confused look.

Kamal just rolled his eyes. “450, deal?”

Alex held out a hand, smiling. “Deal.” Kamal slapped it. Alex shook his hand. “Ow…” He shook himself, then passed on his contact information.

Mrs. Pasala walked in and Alex pretended to cough. “Male pride, to male pride…” He took a sip of water. “Thank you Mrs. Pasala. And thank you, Kamal, for that lovely apology. I feel like our hearts and penises grew three sizes today!”

Mrs. Pasala glared. “Okay, no more penis talk in my house. Go! I’m done with you people, go!”

As they entered the car, Alex grinned. “One down, three to go.”


	2. Chapter 2

Alex could barely contain himself. He drove to their next destination, a tennis court on the outskirts of LA, trying very hard to keep a straight face.

He was doing it. He was finally making this work. He had finally found a way to get Ryland back into video games.

It had taken months of planning and research after Ryland let it slip that he used to be really good at video games. Small pokes and prods, talks with Ryland’s parents, and a couple of drinking sessions landed Alex the information that Ryland used to be a god of MOBAs. A video game thing that… Alex still didn’t quite understand. But he knew one thing.

MOBAs made Ryland happy. And it was damn time Ryland was happy again.

And just as luck would have it, a brand new MOBA had come out, complete with a million-dollar tournament attached to it. Alex spent weeks playing it when Ryland was out of the apartment, trying to get a feel for the game. He wouldn’t call himself a great player, but at least he was good enough that he could attract other players into a team.

And get Ryland playing again. And get him making money off it. He could solve their money problems and Ryland’s depression in one fell swoop.

If he could keep Ryland on board with this.

“Where the hell are we going now?” Ryland asked.

“Don’t worry,” Alex said. “I gotcha.”

“I’m shocked you’re still going with this, Alex.”

Alex frowned. “Why?”

“Do you even understand one bit about MOBAs?”

Alex forced himself to look confused, hoping it looked genuine. “It’s… um… like, an online game or something.”

Ryland rolled his eyes. “You don’t know anything, do you.”

“I do!” Alex said. “There’s like… like monsters and stuff in it and you fight each other and there are bosses and shit.”

“And what’s the object of the game?”

“Uh…” _To destroy the opposing team’s core as quickly as possible._ “See how many of the other side you can kill before time’s up.”

Ryland shook his head, then faced the window. “…Clueless.”

 _Good,_ Alex thought. _Think I’m clueless. I want that. I don’t want you to realize that I’ve been planning this. I don’t want to give you any excuse to give up this time._

They pulled into the parking lot of the tennis court Alex had been looking for.

“This is a tennis court,” Ryland said.

“Astute observation, my dear Watson,” Alex said with a grin. “Teammate number 2.” He headed for the courts.

“You sure you have the right person this time?” Ryland asked.

Alex blushed a little. “…Yes, I’m sure.” He glanced around. “Actually, I hope that little creep we ran into didn’t follow us.”

As they walked toward the courts, they passed a middle-aged couple in full tennis gear. Alex grinned at them.

“Tennis!” he said, waving a hand.

Ryland eyed him as they passed the confused couple. “…Did you just say tennis?”

“Yeah,” Alex said. “They _like_ it.”

Someone grunted loudly in one of the open courts. Alex led Ryland in without a second’s thought.

A young black woman in colorful tennis gear and her hair in a tall ponytail smashed a ball across the court, grunting as loud as she could, her eyes determined. Tennis balls peppered the court, and she had a nearly full basket of more of them next to her. An open gym back lay not far off, though Alex caught a glimpse of a laptop among all the sports equipment.

“Hey!” Alex called. The woman paused and glanced at him. He pointed with a grin. “You BallBang96 on Killcore?”

She stared at them. “Are you stalking me?”

“Essentially,” Alex said.

 _“No,”_ Ryland said, eyeing Alex. “But… we did find out who you are because the guy that we thought was BallBang96 definitely turned out to be stalking you.”

The woman blinked at him, then turned her gaze toward the open gate. She glared, waving her racket. “Five hundred yards, Herman!”

Alex turned and saw the creeper that they had originally pinged as BallBang96 slink out of view. At least she was already on top of things. He turned back to the woman.

“You’re really good at Killcore,” he said. “Best tank top in the state!”

“Best _tank,”_ Ryland said.

Alex blinked. “What’d I say?”

The woman narrowed her eyes, exasperated. “What do you want?”

“We’re recruiting for a Killcore tournament,” Ryland said.

Alex hid a grin. We. He said we! He was already owning this. Awesome!

But the woman shut down their momentum. “Oh, boys, boys, stop. I learned how to play that game while my knee healed.” She picked up another ball and aimed down the court, rocking on the balls of her feet. “I’m glad to know I’m good at it, but I’m an _actual_ athlete. I’m gonna go to the Olympics!” She smashed the ball down court.

It bounced off the net with a resounding thump.

She sighed. “Maybe not this next Olympics, but… Olympics.”

Alex pressed his lips together. Damnit. There’s one loss. He turned to leave.

But Ryland stayed. He narrowed his eyes at her. “What category?”

She eyed him back. “Women’s singles.”

He held a hand up. “Is the medal for that one smaller than the one for men’s singles or just less gold?”

Her mouth dropped. “Ex _cuse_ me?”

“You didn’t quit playing Killcore when your knee healed,” Ryland continued. “We found you here because you’ve been playing here.”

She paused. “When I’ve been waiting for a court to open up…”

“Yeah,” Ryland continued. “Every chance you get. Because you got a taste of something that ‘real’ sports can’t give you.”

Alex grinned. Ryland was winning her back. “Pizza.”

“An accurate measurement of your talent and discipline,” Ryland continued, ignoring Alex’s comment. “A chance to go on a completely level playing field. No categories. No asterisks. I’m just saying… you could do this and play with us.”

The woman chewed on her lip, rocking a little. “…You got a card or something?”

Alex reached into his pocket. “I’ve got my number on a piece of French fry bag!” he said, passing her the bag.

She took it delicately. “I’ll think about it.” She turned back to her game.

Alex couldn’t control the giddiness anymore as they walked off the court. “Dude, that was incredible, you totally got inside her head!”

Ryland gave him a rare smile. “Yeah well, jocks are into that whole winning thing.”

Then he paused and his smile faded. He stared into space.

Alex frowned. Something was going on in his head. Ryland didn’t often get that thousand-yard-stare, but when he did, it usually meant he was reflecting on some dark part of his past. Alex bit his lip. Hopefully he wasn’t bringing some of that to the surface with this esports thing. He watched him a moment before gripping his shoulder. “Hey, you doing okay?”

Ryland shook his head, like he was trying to erase something from his mind. “Yeah, fine.” He met Alex’s eyes. “Can we go home now? I’m done for today. I need a nap.”

Alex forced a smile. “Sure, buddy. We’ll continue with this tomorrow.”

“We’re taking the bus tomorrow.”

Alex just laughed. “Whatever you say, Ry.”


	3. Chapter 3

Alex grinned as Ryland brought down the opponent’s core with Manateen’s ult for the fifth time today.

They had been playing for a week and a half now with the two players Alex had scouted with Ryland. Kamal Pascala, playing a trap warrior as support, and Sam Kinsey, playing a tank warrior, Monster Pope. The character was comical in his own way, crossing himself when he died, with such catch phrases as “Bless you to hell.” She played him well.

They had another player today, working healing, testing him out to see if he fit with their little ragtag team. So far so good.

Alex had gone with support, playing a character called Void Sloth under the name Star_Lynx. He had thought he was pretty good, considering the fact that he had only been playing for a few weeks, but with Kamal and Sam on the team, he looked like a total noob. Though admittedly, the weed he had smoked before everyone showed up to calm his nerves probably wasn’t helping.

But Ryland outshone them all.

“Yes!” Alex said, grinning. He pulled his headphones off. “Holy crap, Ryland. When did you get so good?” He hoped Ryland might come clean about his godlike behavior.

Ryland gave a nervous laugh. “Forgot I used to play DotA before the whole MOBA craze,” he muttered. “Guess some things never really change…” His voice trailed.

Alex frowned. This… wasn’t the reaction he was expecting. When Ryland was in the game, he was intense. Focused. Powerful. When they won, he was grinning and excited.

When they stopped and he got even a moment to reflect, he was quiet and introspective.

This was supposed to make Ryland happy. Why wasn’t it making Ryland happy?

Something wasn’t right.

Sam spoke up. “This is the third time he’s killed the core in under fifteen minutes.”

Kamal waved a hand. “He’s okay. . .”

Their new potential team mate leaned forward. “He’s not just okay. He’s the _best I’ve ever seen._ And I’ve played with everybody. Lucid Nightmare, Math Pain, Spine Deep, Dog Cock. All the greats.”

Alex caught a hint of a proud smile on Ryland’s face at the praise. But it only lasted a second. He tried not to worry about it too much and turned to the new player. “So you’ll join our happy few?”

The guy frowned. “No.” He gathered his mouse and keyboard and headed for the door. “Real teams pay. You can’t afford me.”

Alex pressed his lips together. “Cool uh, we’ll put you on the maybe list.”

The guy left without another word.

Alex sighed and held up a hand. “Guys, I’m totally gonna get us a sponsor. It is happening.”

“Bullshit,” Kamal said, glaring. “If you really had money, why are you dressed like a French hobo?”

Alex frowned again, lowering his gaze. Considering where he had been before he met Ryland, “hobo” was definitely not a word he wanted to hear again.

Kamal continued. “And why is your carpet all crunchy?”

Alex slumped in his chair. He couldn’t exactly respond. Kamal was right. They were broke and practically starving some days and–

“Do you guys really care more about money than you do this team?” Ryland snarled. He glared at Kamal. “We’re good. We have a _shot.”_

Alex stared at his friend.

Kamal rolled his eyes. “At a million dollars, which is called money, which you guys care about.”

Sam piped in. “More than the team, which doesn’t exist, because you have no money.”

Alex fought a mild panic attack. He was losing them. He was losing his chance to make Ryland happy again. He stood, the weed giving him confidence.

“Guys, winning a million dollars isn’t about money,” he said. “It’s about _freedom_ from money.”

Kamal stared, confused. Sam seemed a little more interested.

Alex paused a moment. He wasn’t quite sure where to take this. Um… he pointed to Kamal. “If you had a million dollars, you could drop out of school!” Kamal’s eyebrow perked.

He turned to Sam. Money… wouldn’t really help with her Olympic dreams. The weed started messing with his head. Uh… “And if you had a million dollars, you could… buy a jar of name brand peanut butter… and throw it off a bridge.” Ryland raised an eyebrow, but Alex kept going, the high encouraging a weird smile to take over his face. “And then buy another jar of peanut butter. And you better believe you could throw that shit off a bridge too.”

Sam smiled nervously, nodding weird encouragements. “…It’s good to have dreams.”

Someone knocked. Without really thinking, Alex headed for the door. “I’m just saying that money is a state of mind. It’s not a _real thing.”_ He hopped up the steps and gripped the door handle. “It has no bearing on the material world!” He opened the door.

“Hey!” a bald man with glasses, a plaid shirt, and a half manic grin greeted him. “You guys are evicted.” He passed a folded piece of paper to Alex.

Oh. Oh _shit._ Lorenzo. Their landlord. Alex’s body buzzed with worry.

When Ryland allowed Alex to move in with him six years ago, Alex had nothing. No job, no money, no car… little more than the clothes on his back, his beat-up bong, and all his precious instruments at the pawn shop, waiting for payment. Ryland had already been in pretty dire straights financially, Alex learned later, but he still had the heart to let Alex into his life.

Alex had been determined to make it up to Ryland. He refused to let his employment situation drag the two of them down. Ryland deserved better.

Of course… it never worked out that way.

But they had never been evicted. Alex wouldn’t let that happen.

And yet… here it was. Happening. Alex had to do something. “Uh… Hi, Lorenzo. Can you hold on for one second?”

Lorenzo waved a hand and pushed his way into the apartment. “Oh, I’ve been holding on for like, six months. Now you guys are blowing fuses, you got strange-looking people coming in and out. . .” He paused when he saw their game set up in the living room, staring at Kamal and Sam. “Not. I mean stran _gers,”_ he said, a false grin overcoming his face. “Not strange looking. I did not vote for…” his voice trailed.

Alex followed him after shutting the door, narrowing his eyes at Lorenzo.

As if to hide his embarrassment, he pointed to the computers. “What is all this?”

Alex saw a chance to distract him. “Oh, we’re starting a Killcore team. It’s an esport like uh…”

“Video game,” Sam finished for him.

Lorenzo’s sarcastic grin returned. “Ah, must be nice. Broke, you’re unemployed, you’re six months behind in rent…” He waved a hand in the air. “Yeah! Let’s play _video games.”_

Alex looked over the eviction notice hardly hearing Lorenzo. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. They were supposed to win this tournament, get a million dollars, and… who knew. Pay off debts. Get the rest of his instruments out of the pawn shop. Maybe get a house with Ryland, in Florida, closer to Ryland’s parents and away from his own. Actually start a proper life instead the hell hole they lived in now.

And Ryland could be happy again.

Assuming Ryland still wanted Alex as a roommate. Especially after this. He crinkled the paper in his hand. While he had never truly had proof for this, he always worried that his stay with Ryland was on thin ice. One wrong move and Ryland would have enough of his bullshit and finally kick him out.

In all actuality… that probably wasn’t true. Ryland was afraid to lose people. Though he had a bad habit of pushing people away or trying to make them feel uncomfortable and not welcome if he started getting too close to them. Alex had experienced this first hand.

But he wasn’t willing to let Ryland go.

Ryland frowned at Lorenzo’s ranting and turned away. Alex held the paper tighter. He couldn’t lose the only friend who ever actually stuck with him.

Lorenzo’s voice dragged him back to reality. “You don’t think I want to play video games?”

Alex shot his head straight up, staring at their landlord.

“Sounds great!” Lorenzo continued. “But I have work to do! And I have _impulse control_ and _therefore,_ I have money.”

Video games. He said he liked _video games._ Alex exchanged a glance with Ryland. Ryland raised his eyebrows and leaned forward, encouraging whatever crazy scheme built in Alex’s head. Alex pushed aside the weed-brain and grasped for sobriety.

“Lorenzo, I didn’t know you liked video games!” Alex said, extra enthusiastic.

Lorenzo stared at him. “What?”

Alex grinned. “What’s your game?”

Lorenzo’s mask of a smile started breaking down. “Oh don’t change the subject…” He paused. _“Gauntlet,_ if I had a choice…”

Ryland jumped in now. “This is basically _Gauntlet.”_

Alex carefully slid the eviction notice in the waste basket, winking at Ryland.

Lorenzo’s face lit up. “It is?” Then his face turned sour, though it was obviously fake. “I mean… so?”

With a little coaxing from Ryland, they got Lorenzo playing a game of Killcore as a healer called Detached Retina. He dove into a game and Alex hoped he’d have at least enough skill to keep his interest and keep him from evicting them.

He almost immediately died.

They put him in another game before he had a chance to truly process what had happened.

Sam and Kamal left their computers to watch. Sam watched with disgust, and Kamal’s whole face exploded with a troll grin. Alex kept lightly smacking Kamal’s shoulder to keep him from snickering too loudly at Lorenzo’s terrible skills.

The man was even worse than Alex had been when he first started.

This was going to be a disaster.

“Wait, which guy am I?” Lorenzo asked, frantically pushing buttons and waving the mouse around.

“You’re that one,” Sam said, pointing.

Lorenzo frowned, shaking his head. “Well, that guy’s dying.”

Ryland leaned forward. “Yeah but that’s…” Detached Retina died. “…good.”

Lorenzo shook. “It is? I’m supposed to die?”

Kamal chimed in now, his grin taking over his face. “Yeah, you’re evolving.” He snickered.

Alex ignored him, trying to keep up the façade. “Goddamn Lorenzo, it’s scary how good you are at this!”

“Really?” Lorenzo asked. “’Cause it feels like I’m just hitting buttons randomly.”

Alex took a deep breath. This was it. Hopefully it didn’t completely kill the team. “I’m just gonna come out and say it. Please be on our team.”

The others stared at him. But what choice did they have?

“Oh _right,”_ Lorenzo said. So I come over to evict you and it just happens to turn out I have a magical video game talent and you want me on your team.”

His focus faded a moment as he watched the rest of his team online kill the opposing core. Every façade fell away and he shook with excitement.

“This is the _greatest moment of my life,”_ he said, a real, genuine grin growing on his face. “I’m like the King of Kong!”

And that was how Alex’s team ended up with a completely useless fifth member… but at least they didn’t get evicted.

The mood that night in their apartment was frosty, at least in Alex’s point of view.

Alex stayed on his laptop, laying on the couch with his back to Ryland. He held a beer in his hand, his fourth one of the night, trying to drink away his mistake. Too bad it wasn’t working.

Ryland sat on his computer, playing Killcore. They hadn’t spoken since the team left the apartment.

Alex chewed on his lip, taking another swig of beer. All of this was his fault. He was the one who couldn’t pay rent. He nearly got them evicted. He managed to think quick and get Lorenzo thinking about other things which very likely saved them, but that was temporary. It also likely ruined their team. In the long run, he probably ruined everything.

He always ruined everything. Why the hell did Ryland keep him around?

“…Sorry,” he muttered.

Killcore’s announcer shouted “REDEMPTION” and Alex heard Ryland turn in his old, squeaky seat. “What?”

“I fucked it up again,” Alex said. He slumped deeper into the couch. “I fuck everything up…”

Ryland got up from his chair. Alex winced, and tried burying his face deeper in his laptop.

Ryland shoved aside some leftover fast food wrappers off their coffee table and sat down on it. He stared at Alex. Alex peeked over the top of his laptop, expecting to see an angry Ryland.

Instead, Ryland was frowning, looking worried. “Alex,” he said slowly. “We’ve been over this before.”

Alex looked off to the side. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,” Ryland said. “You can’t tell me you forgot last year at the Starbomb concert.”

Alex bit his lip. That… hadn’t gone nearly as planned. His old bandmates had somehow landed the opening gig for Starbomb that year and their lead guitarist, Chet, had recognized Alex and belittled him during the Q&A in front of the whole audience. He specifically focused on Alex’s parasitical tendencies.

He drained everyone dry. Just like he was doing to Ryland.

Alex had left the concert, far too ashamed to stay. He had intended to leave Ryland behind, remove one of the biggest problems in his friend’s life, and maybe find some bench to sleep on that night. He couldn’t possibly believe Ryland wanted to keep him around after Chet so clearly pointed out Alex’s biggest flaw.

But Ryland had followed. He wouldn’t let Alex leave. He refused to let Alex think he was a parasite.

“What did I tell you back then?” Ryland asked, holding Alex’s gaze.

Alex pulled his knees up to his face. “…That our money problems weren’t my fault.”

“And I meant it.”

“But it’s not true, Ry,” Alex said. “I’m–”

“I swear to god, Alex, if you try telling me you’re a parasite, I will take that laptop and smack you with it,” Ryland said. “You’re my best friend, and I’m glad to have you here, and you’re not a parasite. Chet can shove it up his ass.” He paused, taking a deep breath, rubbing his temples. He continued, speaking slower. “Seriously. You didn’t fuck anything up. Hell, you saved us. That was quick thinking with Lorenzo. We can work around him. It’s okay.”

It really wasn’t. Especially since it was getting Ryland worked up. That was not part of the plan. But Alex leaned back and frowned, just grateful that Ryland wasn’t planning on kicking him out. “If you say so, Ry.”

“I do,” Ryland said. He stood up and headed back for the computer. “No more of this bullshit, okay?” He pulled up Killcore on the computer without waiting for Alex’s response.

Alex watched Ryland stare intently at the computer. He breathed deeply.

It wasn’t okay. But he’d keep working to make it okay. He owed that to Ryland.


	4. Chapter 4

For better or for worse, Alex and Ryland had built their team. One member was a crazy psycho kid, one member was completely useless, and one had to balance tennis with Killcore, and it was blatantly obvious which activity she put as priority, but they had their team.

Next stop – tournaments.

Alex discovered very quickly that getting into a tournament wasn’t as simple as just filling out an application and paying the application fee.

A fee that he absolutely could not pay on his own. Why did this cost so much damn money?

He had to butter up Lorenzo’s sense of pride as a gamer in order to get him to pay for application fees.

The first one rejected them. “Invalid Roster” it said. Alex had to look up what that meant.

He was horrified.

Apparently most tournaments only let experienced, well-known teams and players in. His team was a bag of riff-raff and they didn’t even have a team name yet.

But he wouldn’t give up. He kept at it.

As Alex applied for tournament after tournament, the rest of the team convinced Lorenzo to upgrade everything. Internet, computers, mice, keyboards, monitors… and he paid for all their failed applications too.

Well. Alex did promise they’d get a sponsor. He just didn’t expect it to come in the name of his landlord.

He hated doing it. Lorenzo was so easily duped and he hated taking advantage of that. For that matter, they were digging a bigger and bigger hole. If the fog they had descended on Lorenzo lifted, they’d be in trouble so deep he didn’t see any way out of it.

And they inched closer and closer to this every time with every rejected application and every new plead from Alex for more money.

He turned away from the pro tournaments and tried semi-pro. No dice. Then he looked for just local tourneys. Still rejected. How did a new team get involved with elitist bullshit?

Finally he found a charity event. Some big names were already on the roster, and they would be televised for Blood Match League Play. Anyone could enter. 

As long as they could pay the $5,000 mandatory donation.

Lorenzo gave him a check with a smile and no questions.

It took a tremendous amount of will to actually send it off instead of giving it back and blowing this whole thing before it got any more out of hand.

Thankfully, their application was accepted. Alex pushed the ever-growing amount of money Lorenzo had dedicated to this stupid thing out of his mind.

This was it. They’d win this tournament, then finally be able to join the proper ones. No more wasted application money.

The mailman delivered their team shirts early on the day of the tournament. Alex groggily signed for the package, dropped it on the couch bed, then pulled one out of the box and frowned. He stared at the bright yellow, trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes.

This was supposed to be exciting. Why wasn’t he excited?

Images of a blue, spangly jumpsuit popped in his mind and he cringed.

In a way… this was a performance. In a… a costume. Uniform. Whatever.

Just like his old band.

The band that failed.

The band that decided they wanted to stop comedy music and do “real” music. The band that Chet took over as soon as he got the chance. The band that kicked Alex out after they decided his Sexbang persona didn’t fit with their “vision.” Chet’s vision. Which, conveniently, surfaced just after he had convinced Alex to spend his life savings on instruments and equipment.

He should have sold off the instruments ages ago. But after all that time and planning and money… he could never convince himself to. They just spent a brief stint at a pawn shop when Alex was at his lowest point in life, and it hadn’t been easy earning the money to buy them back. He couldn’t sell them now. Besides, selling the instruments would just be a temporary fix. And even at full price, it wouldn’t put a dent in six months worth of rent.

Nearly seven months now.

He dropped the shirt in the box and reached for his bong. This situation called for his emergency supply.

—–

Ryland woke to the smell of strong weed. And since he was totally nose-blind to the smell of Alex’s normal supply, that meant something. He pulled on a shirt, put his hair up in a hasty ponytail, and dashed into the living room.

Alex lay back on the couch, his bed actually put away for once, a lazy, druggy smile on his face. Beer in one hand, used bong in the other, he had practically dissolved into a liquid on the couch from the two substances the way he was sprawled out. He looked up when he saw Ryland. “Heeeyyy look who fin’lly ‘cided to join th’ living.” He waved his beer at him.

Ryland frowned. “What the hell are you doing? We have a tournament today.”

Alex took a swig of beer. “S’not ‘til later.”

Ryland glanced at his phone. “It’s in two hours.”

“Plen’y a’time,” Alex muttered. He reached into a box on the coffee table, pulled out something disgustingly yellow, and threw it at Ryland. “Shirts here.”

Ryland caught the shirt with his face. He glared at Alex, but he didn’t seem to notice, going back to his beer. Ryland turned back to the fabric in his hands.

“Anaheim Cares” blazed across the front with a simple logo attached to it. He flipped the shirt around and found the words “Esports People” decorating the back.

“Please tell me you didn’t name our team ‘Esports People’,” Ryland said.

Alex just grinned. “S’a great name.”

Ryland huffed, then stomped over and ripped Alex’s beer and bong from his hands.

Alex frowned. “Give ‘em back.”

“No,” Ryland said. “We have a tournament today. Don’t you get that?”

“I always play high…” Alex said, reaching for the bong.

“Not today you don’t,” Ryland said. “The rest of the team will be here soon and I can’t imagine the judges are gonna let you into the tournament high as a kite. Go take a shower and get some coffee in you.”

There was a brief look of something broken on Alex’s face, but it quickly vanished when he rolled his eyes in disgust. “Whatever, _mom.”_

“Don’t do that,” Ryland said. “Just get in the shower.”

Alex reluctantly peeled himself off the couch. He flashed a middle finger at Ryland before disappearing into the bathroom.

Ryland rolled his eyes. Alex didn’t mean it. He never did when high. Or drunk. Or both. It was hard to take anything he said seriously when he drowned himself in downers. Ryland dumped out the beer, attempted to hide the bong to give Alex time to sober up, then stared at the bright yellow shirt.

Esports People. God, what a name.

An hour later, both Ryland and Alex were showered and dressed in the highlighter yellow shirts. Ryland chose a brown long sleeved shirt to wear under the team shirt. Alex chose his too-short-for-his-scarecrow-legs rusty red pants to wear with the shirt. He now sat at the cluttered kitchen table, on his fourth cup of coffee. The coffee hadn’t put a dent in his drunken state and of course it did nothing for the high.

Ryland sighed. Nothing for it. They were stuck.

Someone jangled the door handle. Alex sunk deeper into his chair, burying himself behind his coffee, saying nothing.

The door opened and the rest of the team entered, Lorenzo leading the way. He looked haggard. “Get the shirts! We need to go! We’re going to be late!”

Ryland raised an eyebrow. “Lorenzo, we have over an hour before the event starts and we’re only 20 minutes away.”

“That’s not enough time! Where are the shirts?” Lorenzo dashed into the living room, tossing things left and right, practically tearing apart the apartment trying to find the shirts.

“On the couch,” Alex said, sipping at his coffee again.

Lorenzo rushed for the box, threw it open, and hurled shirts at Sam and Kamal. Kamal looked over his for a moment, wrinkling his nose. “What kind of name is Esports Pe–”

Alex slammed his coffee mug on the table and thrust himself out of the chair, startling everyone. “Lorenzo’s right, no time to waste, let’s go!” He snatched the car keys out of Lorenzo’s hands and headed outside, a strange grin overcoming his face. He stood outside the door, waving everyone through, then took up the rear.

Ryland eyed him and the car keys as he walked out, but he paid no attention, instead flipping his hair dramatically as they headed for Lorenzo’s company van. Despite Ryland’s protests, he took the driver seat and started off once everyone was settled.

Ryland sat in the very back, away from everyone.

Kamal glared at Alex over the seat. _“Esports People?”_

Alex hadn’t dropped that manic grin. “I registered the night of the deadline,” he said. “Names are hard. I couldn’t think of one.”

“But you _could_ think of one,” Kamal said. “It was _Esports People.”_

Ryland sighed. “It’s a charity event,” he said. “It’s not important. The name’s not a big deal.”

“Not A Big Deal would actually be a good name,” Sam quipped from the front seat.

“Better than _Esports People!”_ Kamal snarled. “Other better names would have been The Bad Names. The Badly Named Namers.” He paused. “Or ISIS.”

Lorenzo leaned forward in his seat. “I think you guys are just nervous about our first big event,” he said, his own nerves making his voice shake a little and his voice to rise up a pitch. “But you should be because you’re every bit the video game player that I am.”

Ryland sank deeper in his seat so Lorenzo wouldn’t see his eyeroll.

“You just need more confidence,” Lorenzo continued. He tapped Sam’s shoulder. “And that goes _double_ for you, Sam.”

She threw a skeptical look at him. “It goes double for me?”

Lorenzo stuck his nose in the air. “I don’t see your race or your vagina.”

Sam blinked. “I… didn’t show them.”

“I get it, Millennial Rules,” Lorenzo said. “I smelt it I dealt it, I’m just addressing the elephant, which is–”

“Thank you for the _reassurance,”_ Sam said, cutting him off. “But I really think we should stop talking about who earned their spot.”

“Hey!” Kamal said. “There’s more than one of earning a spot.” He rubbed his fingers together. “So don’t screw this up.”

Sam glared. “You mean like you’re doing right now?” She mimicked his finger movement.

“You are both fireworks,” Lorenzo said.

The three of them dissolved into arguing. Alex pressed a palm to his forehead. Ryland gripped his head, trying to make it stop, but it took no time to get overwhelmed.

 _“Everyone stop yelling!”_ he screamed, shaking his fists.

“Jesus Christ, Ryland!” Alex exclaimed.

“It’s a _charity event!”_ Ryland said, ignoring the worry in Alex’s voice. “Everyone is _yelling!”_

Alex turned toward Ryland, a deep frown on his face, but before he could speak, the whole car jumped, forcing Alex to stare forward again. He blinked. “…I’m sure that animal was a dick.”

Sam’s horrified look, and Kamal’s frantic insistence they go check on the animal forced Alex to turn around, despite Lorenzo’s protests.

Ryland stayed silent.

The animal in question, a possum, lay in the gutter, sinking in a pool of blood, twitching occasionally.

Lorenzo paced back and forth. “Well, it’s a possum right? Aren’t they famous for playing dead?” He stared at the car anxiously.

Ryland frowned at the dying animal. “Yeah, but I don’t think they use… special effects.”

Sam furrowed her brows. “It’s breathing…” She kneeled next to it.

Kamal stared over her, an unusual worry on his features. “Stop, you’re scaring it!”

“It’s okay,” Sam reassured him. She leaned down, patted its back and gripped his head gently.

Then she twisted. A sickening crack signaled the end of the animal. Everyone leaned back, gasping, and Ryland groaned.

They had nothing to bury the animal with, but Kamal insisted they do something. They dropped him on a path, covered him with woodchips, and regrettably made a cross out of tampons, the only real material they had. Alex hammered into the ground with a rock, then stood.

Ryland saw him fighting for some sober part of his brain.

“Life,” Alex said solemnly. “. . .Is a highway.” The weed brain definitely won.

Kamal glared. “That’s _not funny.”_

Alex turned to him. “You have something you want to say Kamal?”

“If I don’t, will she kill me?” he responded, nodding to Sam.

Sam frowned, fiddling with the makeshift bouquet they had made from flowers along the road. “He was in pain.” 

Alex nodded. “I see peace in what you did, Sam.”

Lorenzo cringed. “I see a reason not to share my pain with her.”

Sam glared. “Then it died for a _good cause.”_

“Alright, _look,”_ Alex said. “This little scrapper died on the alter of my tire to send a message!”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Speed limit 45?”

 _“Be a team!”_ Alex said. “Fate didn’t bring us together to be lovers, or friends, or strangers who can stand each other. “He brought us together to play a MOBA.” He paused, glancing at Ryland. “A MOBA?”

Ryland nodded.

Alex stared at the ground. “Such a dumb word.” He raised a hand up. “Now we are who we are. But we will get back on that van. An esports team. With a name we will beat later in a brainstorming session–”

“We’re late,” Sam said, dropping the flowers on their makeshift grave.

“And very inspired, Alex,” Ryland said slowly. Alex’s face fell, but Ryland ignored it and headed back to the van.

The last thing he heard before they entered the van again was Alex muttering how the animal came out of nowhere.

As Alex took the driver’s seat, Ryland sulked in the back. This was a bad idea. He couldn’t back out today, but if they didn’t keep it together, he wouldn’t be doing this another time.


	5. Chapter 5

“I’m Naomi, and welcome to Anaheim Cares, where we’re reporting from between two gender normative bathrooms!” one of the hosts in the corner said.

The second host grinned. “I’m Terry Crews and I’m so excited to be here, I don’t care _what_ I have to smell!”

Ryland stared at the hosts in awe as they entered the spacious main room of the small charity. Hand-drawn pictures and encouraging posters lined the walls. A massive set up in the center held the computers where competitors would be playing. A makeshift bar selling non-alcoholic drinks stood in one corner. Kids with varying degrees of disabilities scattered around the room, huge grins on their faces, talking with the teams. Most of the teams were already here, but they weren’t the ragtag band that Ryland’s team was. They were, nearly all of them, from big name teams, looking to enter Blood Match. Alex had said this was just some charity event, but this was obviously something bigger if the main Blood Match hosts, sponsors, and teams were here today.

He took a deep breath. No reason to get all excited. They’d be lucky if they got out of the qualifying matches.

But some part of the excitement still clung to him. He kept his growing grin under control.

Lorenzo frowned and he pulled a sweatband over his head. “So what is this charity? Is it giving kids who like games new wheelchairs or kids in wheelchairs new games?”

A group of nearby kids danced in their wheelchairs, grinning at all the players.

Alex ignored them, patting Lorenzo’s shoulder. “It’s giving us a chance to be great,” he said, his words still slightly slurred from the substances still muddying his brain.

Ryland rolled his eyes, then dragged his bag toward an empty table with the rest of his team. Might as well get this over with.

—–

Dylan McBride, otherwise known as Steamin’ Semen (a name choice that would regrettably haunt him to the grave) relaxed at a table near the “bar” that had been set up by the charity, sipping on a Shirley Temple with way too much grenadine. A vape in one hand, his drink in the other, he could sit back and relax in today’s match since his team, Lucid Nightmare, were only making a publicity appearance today. No need to actually play.

Good. Because frankly, he had too much on his mind to spend time focusing his team. His stupid decision to get a brand-new Hummer to impress his gold-digger girlfriend, his farm teams struggling with this new MOBA… his ability to actually keep up with all the other upcoming teams.

Why did he pick such a fragile job?

He took a puff of his vape. Ryland Tate. That’s why. He always fucking came to mind when they tackled any new tournament.

Ryland, who had come into DotA absolutely dominating and annihilating Dylan’s reputation as a MOBA god only a week after starting up the game. Ryland, who had tried to befriend Dylan after the pair of them learned they lived close to each other, as if that somehow made up for Ryland’s destruction of Dylan’s reputation. Ryland, who had been too damn nice for his own fucking good.

Why couldn’t he have been a cocky asshole? It would have made it so much easier to tear him down, publicly, and turn people against him easily. Instead Dylan had to resort to hacking Ryland’s webcam, stealing his password, and discretely passing it on to his mom when Dylan heard her complain that Ryland spent too much time playing “that damn ‘NOBA’ game.” The resulting meltdown video had been published to a fake account to keep Ryland in the dark. Ryland disappeared not long after that. Probably found some other thing to be godlike with.

He sighed. It wasn’t really fair to blame Ryland for his current situation, as much as he wanted to. Ryland was just playing a game. He wasn’t intending to do any harm. Dylan was the one who took it too damn far. His reputation in game was all he had. How could Ryland have known that?

Though he had to admit, dragging Ryland back down as a kid was pretty damn fun. A small grin graced his lips. Man, if Ryland could see him now. It’d be way different now. Maybe he’d see how good Dylan actually was. Maybe he’d commend him even.

Maybe they could actually be friends. Maybe… he could actually have friends.

He sipped the too-sweet drink. And maybe he could leap into space and eat the moon. He took a deep breath, glancing around the room.

And nearly choked on his drink.

There, in the corner, wearing a yellow player shirt surrounded by a band of riff-raff wearing identical shirts, was Ryland.

He was older. Taller. Longer hair, had a beard… but he was unmistakably Ryland.

Holy fuck.

What was he doing here? Was he seriously going to play?

Was he seriously going to ruin everything?

His team was so unassuming, but then again, so was Ryland, at least in the past. For all he knew, he brought in some powerhouse team that would wipe the floor with Lucid Nightmare and bring Dylan back down again.

The fancy gamer house, the Hummer, his girlfriend, his reputation, his money… it’d all be gone with a tap of Ryland’s fingers on a keyboard if he was really planning to play again.

Shit. Shit, shit, _shit._ Everything would be fucking lost.

Dylan had to do something. But what? What could he do? How could he stop this?

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a kid playing a video on YouTube.

A sneaky grin came over his face. That’s how. He turned back to the bar and the purple haired host who’s name he couldn’t be bothered to remember.

“Excuse me, sweetie.”

She turned to him with a mock smile. “Oh my god, you know my real name!”

Dylan sneered. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I trigger you?”

She sneered back.

“For _give_ me,” he snarled. “But I’m about to give you a million free clicks.” He lifted his drink and headed toward Ryland. “Follow me. Bring your camera guy.”

The host rolled her eyes, but she sipped on her drink and waved to her camera crew.

Dylan let the troll side of himself take over as he led the party to an unsuspecting Ryland.

Time to bite this thing in the butt before it got away from him and ruined everything.

—–

Ryland dropped his bag on the table the team had chosen, trying to focus his mind. Alex gripped Ryland’s shoulder, grinning, the faint scent of weed still clinging to him, making it hard for Ryland to focus. His roommate pulled out a notebook and glanced around the room, taking notes on who knew what.

Ryland put on mental blinders, but he still struggled. The banter from the team didn’t help.

“What are real athletes doing here?” Lorenzo asked, pointing to the team taking pictures with the disabled children from the center.

Kamal frowned. “That’s Lucid Nightmare.”

Ryland paused. Lucid Nightmare? Why did that name sound familiar?

“When do we get to play them?” Lorenzo asked.

Kamal rolled his eyes. “We don’t get to play them Old Bones, only the crippled kids do.” A man in a wheelchair flipped Kamal off as he slid by. Kamal scoffed at him.

Ryland relaxed. If they didn’t play that team, then whatever bothered him about them subconsciously wasn’t an issue.

Until it was.

A purple haired woman with dark lipstick and too friendly a smile walked up to him and invaded his personal space with a hand on his shoulder. He froze at the touch, meeting her eyes.

“Hey, I’m so glad you could join us,” she said. “You mind if we do a quick segment?”

Alex’s grin widened and he slapped Ryland’s chest encouragingly before walking out of shot.

Ryland stared wide eyed as panic set in. “Wait, why?” But before anyone answered, the woman counted down and the cameras started rolling.

And an old familiar face came into view. Ryland’s heart raced, though he attempted a bored, annoyed face to hide it. The woman spoke, but Ryland hardly heard her.

“Hey guys, this is Ash Donovan, here at Anaheim Cares, and I’m joined by Steamin’ who’d like to give some hot tips to a very special competitor new to the Killcore scene.” The woman pressed the microphone under Ryland’s nose. Ryland ignored the microphone and glared at the man in front of him.

This was exactly why he had quit MOBAs.

Dylan. Or Steamin’ as he was now known.

Ryland had two seconds to compose himself before he allowed himself to speak. He locked eyes with Steamin’. “What are you doing here?” It didn’t come out nearly as angry as he wanted it to.

Steamin’s troll grin grew. “Come on, that’s no way to treat an old friend!” He held out his arms and made his way to Ryland. “Bring it in, buddy!”

Ryland only had time to put up his hands and stiffen up at the touch. _“No._ No, we’re not _friends.”_ But Steamin’ ignored him.

Steamin’ pulled back still grinning. “I thought you were dead or in rehab or something. How you been?” He pointed to the bright yellow shirt. “Oh my god. Are you here to _play?”_

Ryland crossed his arms in front of the logo on his chest and looked away.

“That’s _amazing,”_ Steamin’ said. “Still playing at our age!” He wiggled his fingers in the air. “I mean, these puppies are done for. Arthritis? Gone. I can’t play anymore.”

Ryland had to get out of there. Completely. Leave. This tournament was done and he would never touch a MOBA again. He turned away. “I have to go.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Steamin’ said. “Come on, this is _important._ This is _inspiring._ It’s great to see you back on the horse, buddy!”

All this friend talk and buddy names and fake enthusiasm reminded him too much of Alex, but Alex, with his huge grins, positive outlook, and genuine joy, did not mix well with Steamin’ fake attitude in Ryland’s mind. His skin crawled.

He had to get the _fuck out of here._

But then Steamin’ made that impossible. “You know who this is, right?”

Ash looked confused. “No…”

Ryland pressed his eyes shut. Here it comes.

Steamin’ grinned. “This is _BoogerBoss.”_

The effect was immediate. A hush fell over the crowd. The other two hosts paused immediately and turned their gaze to Ryland. His own team seemed confused, but Ash’s face lit up like the sun.

“Oh my god… how did I not see that? Wow!” Everything about the way she looked at him changed.

“The legendary BoogerBoss!” Steamin’ continued. “Look up his stats!” He spelled out Ryland’s fabled username.

Oh shit. No, no, _no!_ “Don’t look it up!” But everyone ignored him and whipped out their phones.

Then his own teenage voice slammed his ears. _“Goddamn it, Mom!”_

A dreadful, yet familiar video played on one of the big screens meant for fans to see today’s matches.

Old and grainy from the cheap webcam he had had at the time, the video showed him screaming at his mom about her taking his password to DotA and changing it, insisting he clean the litter box before returning to his game. Teenage Ryland ranted about this demand and threw himself around the room, tossing his mattress, pulling posters off the wall, and screaming about how he was BoogerBoss and DotA was his life.

Ryland shut his eyes to the world, his own screams echoing in his head. He had been a legend, rising to the top quickly in the game, beating out seasoned veterans. He had carried a natural talent in the game, garnering friends and fans alike.

It also attracted trolls, rivals, and downright enemies who sought to drag him down as much as they could. Enemies like Steamin’, who had, at one point, pretended to be his friend. They pulled at Ryland, desperate to yank him down from the top.

And they did.

Even during that breakdown, the depression over having so many people hate him, especially for such a stupid reason, had started taking over. It manifested as a greater need to prove himself, which meant he spent more time on the game, which only fueled the depression more. Before he knew it, he had dropped out of school, fought back against any help and somehow found himself in California thousands of miles away from his friends, family, and any form of proper support, trying to run, trying to escape all the hate, hate, hate, hate, but it just dragged him further and further and further down and it wasn’t until Alex had come into his life–

His eyes flashed open. Oh shit, Alex! He lifted his head and found Alex frowning deeply, glancing back and forth between him and the video, as if he wasn’t sure how to react. He just looked… stunned.

Ryland had been living with Alex for a good six years, and while Ryland knew a lot about the troubles of Alex’s past, Alex knew very little about Ryland’s.

And here it was, all out in the open.

Alex had been through far deeper shit than this, with his band, his parents, his alcoholism, his weed addiction, his homelessness. This probably looked petty to him. Stupid. He would never understand.

Ryland almost didn’t even want him to. He had to get out of here. While the crowd was still laughing and sharing the video, increasing its already ridiculously high view count, Ryland snuck out back, desperate to escape the cackling, the mockery, the hate.

Alex.

He never should have done this. As he snuck out the door, the depression monster gripped him tighter than it had in years and he knew nothing would fix it now.


	6. Chapter 6

Alex stared as the video of teenage Ryland came to a halt, though the crowd still laughed madly.

What had he done? He had been trying to help Ryland, not make things worse. And what did he do? He made things fucking worse, just like always. He turned, looking for Ryland.

And couldn’t find him. Oh shit, where’d he go? The weed mind faded in favor of panic. He whipped around, desperate to find his best friend.

Sam grabbed his arm and pulled him out the back door, muttering Ryland’s name, which was the only thing that made Alex follow her. Kamal trailed after them, with Lorenzo taking up the rear.

They got out into the back where a playground waited for them. Ryland sat on one of the pieces of equipment, muttering curses under his breath and violently ripping off his yellow player shirt, before throwing it to the ground. He calmed as the group walked up, though only a little.

Alex’s heart snapped in two. Ryland just looked… broken. Damn it all, he had seen enough of broken Ryland and he never wanted to see it again. Why the fuck did he do this to his best friend…? He opened his mouth, trying to think of any words that might soothe away the problem.

But Lorenzo got there first. “If you don’t get your ass back in there, you guys are like… double evicted!”

Alex glared, too worried about Ryland to care that Lorenzo had, apparently, never forgotten about the eviction notice like Alex had hoped. He turned back, but again, his attempts at soothing Ryland were hijacked.

Sam spoke next. “So now we all have to give up because of that video?”

Kamal piped in. “Yeah, did you think we thought you were cool before?” He threw himself up on the monkey bars.

Ryland ignored both of them.

Alex had one shot to say the right thing. But the muddied mess of his brain took over and he said the exact wrong thing. “That’s why you didn’t tell me you were amazing at this.”

Something obviously cracked and Ryland snarled at Alex, something he had never done before. He glared, the words spilling out like hot hate.

 _“Who said I was amazing at this?”_ Ryland snapped. “I didn’t! It’s not like I was trying to be! _Who would do that?_ When I could be at a park, throwing a ball around or… or touching a boob! None of this matters to me, man!” The glare sharpened as he looked directly into Alex’s eyes. “The only reason I did this was because _you_ wanted to _win a million dollars!”_

Alex winced. Ryland didn’t yell at him. Not ever. Not at Alex. At his computer? At idiots on the road? At kids bullying each other? Sure. Fine. But not at Alex. Never at Alex. God, that fucking hurt. The pressure behind his eyes stung, but he was apparently too dehydrated to properly shed tears, likely from all the beers. He struggled to wrangle up even the simplest sentences. “Everything I’ve done I’ve done for _you.”_

Normally that would do it. That would make Ryland think. But he didn’t. He kept going. “Oh _thank you,”_ he snarled. “It’s so hard sleeping on my couch and owing me thousands of dollars in rent!”

The words slammed Alex like a sack of bricks to the chest. He should turn and leave and just end this whole thing right now since it had obviously been building up to this exploding point for some time. But the weed brain wouldn’t let him leave without a fight.

“I could be a literal French hobo and I’d be fine!” Alex shouted, which they both knew wasn’t true considering the state Ryland found Alex in. But he kept going. “You’re the one who cares about shit like money and winning, not me!”

Ryland leapt off the playground equipment and moved in so close to Alex that he could smell breakfast on his breath. “Fine! I care about those things. And worse, I care about fucking MOBAs! _That’s sad, isn’t it?”_ His eyes glistened. “I care about them so much it makes me fucking _hate myself!”_

Ah. Now they were at the core of the problem. That explained so much about Ryland’s relationships with people over the years.

His relationship with Alex.

The sober, best friend and roommate part of Alex wanted to draw Ryland into a hug, apologize for everything, and do anything possible to repair their friendship.

The weed part, however, won out once again.

“I can yell too!” Alex snarled with a ferocity that he hardly knew existed in him. With nothing else to grab for, he grabbed for something against Ryland and took on a mocking tone. “ ‘Hi, my name is Ryland and these are my two forms of expression! Oh, I’m fake-chill because I don’t wanna admit that I wanna win.” He waved his arms about, forming fists. “Or I’m a little fucking baby doing a tantrum because I fucking–”

He smashed his fist into one of the playground bars.

Big mistake.

“Ahh!” He gripped his hand, leaning down, all the anger and viciousness dying at once. Everything he had just done hit him hard. He did it. He finally did it. He ruined his relationship with Ryland for good and–

But Ryland immediately lost all anger and wrapped an arm around Alex, shaking. “Oh my god! Are you okay?”

Alex gasped, leaning into Ryland’s hug. “Ryland, it hurts…” He wasn’t sure if he was talking about his hand or his heart.

Ryland gripped Alex’s damaged hand and ran a gentle thumb over the fingers. “Let’s go get this looked at.”

Alex had to test the shredded remains of their friendship. “And then… beers?”

Ryland gave him a small smile, and all Alex’s worries melted away. “Then all the beers buddy. Forever.”

Alex hid his sigh of relief and gripped his hand, the pain actually settling in now that he knew he hadn’t permanently damaged his relationship with Ryland.

Ryland lifted his head, glancing at their other teammates. “Okay, nothing is worth this. Everybody go home. This is all done.”

Damn it all. His plan to try and help Ryland backfired in his face. Again. At least he hadn’t ruined everything. He turned to Sam, the only teammate in view beyond his mop of hair. “Sorry we stalked you and stuff…” He let Ryland lead him away.

Sam frowned. “But you’re our ride!”

Before they got very far though, the purple haired hostess, Ash, walked out into the playground. “BoogerBoss!”

Ryland stopped and turned his head away. “…No interviews.”

Before Alex could help Ryland escape, Kamal ran forward toward Ash and held out a hand. “Hi. HotDiarrhea.” He grinned.

Alex glared. This was not the fucking time for that.

But Ash just rolled her eyes and turned back to Ryland. “Look man, I just want to say I’m sorry.”

Alex looked up. Ryland avoided eye contact, but at least he appeared to be listening.

“I would never do that to anyone, especially you,” Ash continued. “I used to play DotA back in the day and you were a legend.” She gave him a sad smile. “Just… please take my apology.”

Something dinged in Alex’s head, Ryland’s grip on his shoulder somehow giving him a better grasp on reality away from the weed brain. “Wait. You guys don’t see a problem here that solves itself?”

Ryland stared at him.

Alex grinned giddily, pulling away from Ryland. This had to work. He pointed to Ash. “Get your camera guy!” Then he headed back to the building, leaving Ryland asking if his hand was better, and Ash complaining about her camera guy.

He had to fix this. For Ryland.


	7. Chapter 7

The team walked in to Steamin’ still taking pictures with his team. They had apparently taken pictures of all the actually disabled people in the room, so now they were making do by taking able bodied volunteers to sit in wheelchairs and pose with crutches.

Something was horribly sinister about that, but Alex shrugged it off for now in favor of his plan. He walked up with the team following behind, and Ash at his side. Steamin’ frowned when he saw him, but Alex returned it with a big grin.

“Hey, Steamin’ Semen!” he said. “Can I call you Mr. Semen?”

Steamin’s face grew dark and he glared, though only for a split second as the video cameras now trained themselves on him.

Alex’s grin grew as he continued. “We got most of the internet watching now thanks to that video you shared about my buddy.”

Steamin’s face fell and he stuttered. “Oh, I didn’t share it. I hate that people keep mocking him.” He gave a fake grin. “He was a hell of a player.” Emphasis on “was.”

Alex just smirked. “Anyway, we thought why waste this global audience? Why not make it work for the charity?” He pulled Ash center stage, hoping she’d play along. “Ash had a really great idea!”

She froze for a second, but then smiled and went with it. “Uh, totally! Yeah! Well, if you wanna watch DotA legend Steamin’ Semen face off against BoogerBoss in Killcore, go ahead and use the hashtag Esports People and donate to Anaheim Cares.”

Steamin’s eye started twitching. “Uh, Ash, that’s a really nice idea, but we’ve already donated thousands of dollars to the uh, little wheelchair kids.”

Ash eyed him with a smirk. “Did you think there was too much money we could raise for charity today?”

A publicity man started taking pictures.

Steamin’ frowned. “No, of course not! But you know, I don’t play anymore. So uh… I bow to BoogerBoss.” He gave a short bow with an uncomfortable smile. “He’s the… best.”

“Oh, so my team is better than your team?” Ryland pushed his way between players and faced Steamin’. Alex barely held in a grin. Ryland continued. “So we’re a lock for Blood Match, we’ll see you there!”

Alex pushed his way through and gripped Ash’s mike. “Sorry wheelchair kids, no money for you!”

The children all frowned and an angry sound of dissent rippled through the crowd in the room.

Steamin’ glared. “Hey, knock it off!” He snarled at Ryland and Alex. “My team is very happy to show you who the best is.” He flashed a grin at the camera. “For the wheelchair kids.”

Small cheers.

Ash smirked at the camera, Alex grinning behind her. “Hashtag Esports People.”

While the teams set up for the match, Ash pulled Alex off to the side and carefully wrapped his hand in a bandage. She passed a pill to him.

Alex frowned. “What’s this?”

“Pain relief,” she said. “So you can play.”

Ryland lifted his head and frowned. “Alex–”

“It’s fine,” Alex said. No doubt Ryland was thinking about the weed and alcohol, but this was their big break and there were cameras on them. Alex couldn’t draw attention to that now. He’d be fine. He popped the pill and took his place at the computer.

They dove into the game.

Fifteen minutes later, strangely, they had actually kept Lucid Nightmare at bay.

Ash was practically beside herself with glee behind Alex. “In a surprising turn of events, Esports People is neck and neck with Lucid Nightmare!”

But Alex had a hard time keeping up with the rest of his team. Every press of a mouse button was agony. No doubt his hand was in a bad way. “God _dammit!”_

Steamin’ glared at Alex. “Alright, first person to kill Slenderman’s Void Sloth gets a bathroom break in next week’s practice.”

Alex stared at him, frowning. There was straight up malice in that voice. Far more than Alex expected. Yeah, Lucid were a big name team but… it was just a game. Right?

Ash grabbed on to his words though. “I think that that’s Steamin’ from Lucid Nightmare exploiting a disability in front of a dozen…” She glanced around. “Maybe a half dozen wheelchair kids?”

Steamin’ snarled at her.

A ripping pain ran up Alex’s arm and he hissed, gripping his hand. Who knew what damage he was doing by continuing this? And with all the booze and weed and whatever crazy substance Ash had given him, his head swam. His game was done. He carefully pulled his headphones off. “Sorry, guys…”

But Ash wouldn’t have that. “What are you doing?” She pushed him out of his chair. “Go, go, go, go!” She dropped in his place.

“Come on, what is that shit?” Steamin’ shouted, waving at her. “No!”

She waved back at Steamin’ and dove into the game. And just owned.

Alex stood behind his team and watched. With the exception of Lorenzo, their raggity ass team worked well together, slowly chipping away at Lucid’s core.

“If we’re the blue team this time, we’re doing really well!” Lorenzo said.

Ash. She was the missing link. If only Alex could convince her to stay…

With Steamin’ shouting things at his team and the crowd getting wilder and wilder as the game went on, Alex got fully absorbed in the goings on.

Until everything suddenly went dark.

The crowd groaned and while Alex couldn’t be certain, he thought he caught a glimpse of a smirk from Steamin’.

Alex glared at him.

“Sorry, folks!” one of the hosts called. “Don’t start looting the place, this is just a tiny technical hiccup!”

“We’re not staying a kid in a wheelchair ran over an extension cord,” Terry said. “But we’re not not saying that.” He dropped his headphones on the table. “I gotta go to the bathroom.” He slumped off.

Alex dropped his hands. Damn it, they were so close!

Steamin’ rounded the table and shoved Alex aside, dropping a hand on Ryland’s shoulder with a fake grin. “Sucks about the power, but that was amazing. I mean, what a show!” He smirked. “Kinda told my guys to drag it out, keep it interesting. For the _kids.”_ He shook Ryland’s shoulder playfully. “But I gotta say man, you still got it!” He waved his vape around. “‘This is my life’, right? Love it. Own it.” He mussed up Ryland’s hair then walked off.

Alex glared at him as he walked by, still clutching his hand. Steamin’ just gave him a smirk of satisfaction. Ryland’s face fell and he stared at the blank screen.

Before Alex could try any words of comfort a man in a suit walked up to Ash and with a slight smile wave a hand, said “You’re fired.”

The words felt like a kick in the gut to Alex. _What?_ Ash fired? Their biggest ally? Why?

Ash’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

The man smiled. “Do I look like Kevin Hart?”

Ash stared.

_“Do I look like international comedy box-office draw Kevin Hart?”_

Alex blinked. What the fuck was this guy on?

“If I answer right, can I keep my job?” Ash asked, leaning forward.

The man took a deep, disapproving breath.

And that was the end of their amazing payback on Steamin’. The end of their Blood Match bid.

The end of everything.

Damn it all.


	8. Chapter 8

An hour later, after a tech team deemed the damage to the extension cord too much to continue and night had fallen, the team headed back home in Lorenzo’s van, just as empty handed as they had been when they left their apartment that afternoon. They were back to square one. Again.

By some strange powers that be, Ash ended up with them, lamenting the loss of her job.

“I loved that job…” she muttered. “I went to Korea four times a year… and I got myself fired right before they started an eSports arena in Fiji. And for _what?”_

Alex stared forward, listening to her. This really was the end of it. His foolproof plan to get back at Steamin’ and attempt to make themselves relevant backfired and even took someone else out with it. Damn it all.

Was it even worth it to continue? His drugged out mind couldn’t focus with that pain killer doing who knew what to enhance the effects.

Ash continued. “So I could live one moment in some dream where eSports wasn’t dominated by a bunch of elitist assholes?”

Alex stared at his bandaged hand. So she felt that way about this whole eSports league too.

Sam spoke up and passed her phone to Ash. “Esports People is _trending.”_

Alex turned. What?

Ash stared at the phone. “Holy _shit.”_ She laughed. “Well the good news is the league’s not gonna be able to ignore you guys now without looking like the elitist pricks that they are!”

No way. Did that mean they still had a shot? Alex fought for sobriety. Maybe… He grinned. “I’m getting a real anti-elitist vibe off of you.” His vision temporarily blurred and he blinked himself back. “What’d you give me?”

“Vicodin,” Ash said.

Ryland’s head snapped to the side from the driver’s seat, his face a mask of worry, but Alex ignored it. He grinned lazily.

“Love it,” he muttered, not quite in control of his mouth. “Love you. Love _America.”_ He turned. “Hey, you should replace me on our team.” Ash gave him an amused smirk. “You’re better than I am, and we got you fired.” _Please, please, please join our team!_

Kamal snorted. “I’m not going to be on the only team with two girls.”

Ash snarled. “Yeah? Well, I’m not going to be on the only team with you, you elitist little shitbag!”

Fucking Kamal, didn’t he know how important this was? Alex tried glaring at him, but he doubted Kamal could see him in the dark.

But Sam stood up for the decision. “She stays or I go.”

Lorenzo piped in. “When women stop competing with each other and start competing _with_ each other, great things happen.” He nodded sagely.

Ash blinked. “…What?”

“Alright, but I’m keeping my computer!” Kamal declared.

“Then you’re staying on the team,” Alex insisted. He paused. He just wrote himself out of the prize money by giving Ash his slot. He had made himself useless. Again.

He had already ruined his chance to make Ryland happy by playing again. By doing this, was he also ruining his chances of at least having financial security for once? He had to do something. “Hey… Can I still keep some of our winnings for starting this and… and loving everyone?”

Ryland scoffed. “Yeah. It’s called being a coach, Alex.”

The buzz in Alex’s head increased and a smile grew on his lips. “…Me?”

His mind flashed back to every time he had ever been rendered useless in his life.

Chet harassing him because of his band persona. _You’re the only one into this band._

His father declaring him worthless. _You’re the only one to blame for your uselessness._

His weed addiction making it impossible to keep a job. _You’re the only one who comes to work high._

His alcoholism draining him of the last of his savings. _You’re the only regular at this bar._

Though… maybe he wasn’t totally useless.

Ryland’s father Jim, last Thanksgiving. _You’re the only friend who has ever truly cared about Ryland._

He had to give this a shot. For Ryland. He had to maintain his usefulness.

He grinned at the team. “Guys. This is going to be the greatest eSports story every told.” He raised a hand. “And not just because stories about eSports are inherently inaccessible and unappealing.” He fist bumped the air. “For Vicodin!”

The team responded with half hearted cheers and were silent for the rest of the ride, aside from Lorenzo asking if anyone ever really figured out what Anaheim cared about.

—–

“I’m sorry.”

Ryland paused as he entered their apartment. Lorenzo had offered to buy everyone dinner, in “celebration” he had said, though with the way he looked at Alex, Ryland suspected he really just wanted an excuse to help Alex back to sobriety. But now Ryland turned to Alex, confused. “For what?”

Alex frowned deeply, his expression crystal clear. The substances had finally worked their way out of his system. “For doing this to you. For bring back that part of your past.”

Ryland stared. Wow. Alex. He really did understand. He didn’t consider his past problems petty. Ryland took a deep breath. He should have expected that. Alex just wanted everyone to be happy. He didn’t care how it happened.

Of course he would understand Ryland’s troubles. Ryland never should have thought differently.

Alex rubbed his arm sheepishly. “I didn’t intend to hurt you with this. I thought–”

“Alex,” Ryland said. “Don’t apologize. It’s fine.”

“But–”

“When have I ever told you anything about my past?”

Alex stared at the floor a moment. “…Never.”

“So how could you have known that that’s where my…” _depression_ “…issues came from?”

Alex took a step forward. “I rarely open up about my past and you managed to get it all from me anyway,” he said. “I should have known. I should have been able to figure it out–”

“Stop,” Ryland said. “Stop beating yourself up over this. There was no way you could know. Besides.” He smiled. “It was worth that to see the look on Steamin’s face. He deserved that after what he did to me as a kid. Now maybe I can move on and really do something with this talent of mine, huh? I never would have tried again if you hadn’t pushed it.”

Alex’s eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly. “You smiled.”

Ryland raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? That happens sometimes.”

Alex closed his mouth, opened it again, and finally closed it. He paused, staring at Ryland before a huge grin overcame his face in that crazy way that it did. “We’re going to win this, Ry.”

Ryland wasn’t so sure. But he could at least try and have fun in the attempt. Maybe he needed this push after all. Maybe he could finally put some old demons to rest.

Maybe he could finally find his place in the world.


End file.
